


Abracadabra!

by Gaffsie



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaffsie/pseuds/Gaffsie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cam is laid up with a broken leg and John tries to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abracadabra!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somehowunbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/gifts).



Having a broken leg sucked.

Lam had put him on bed rest, and Cameron was slowly losing his mind. Surely his leg should have healed enough by now? The pain was minimal, nothing at all like after his crash, but time was moving at the pace of molasses, and not even John's presence was making him feel better. He would gladly have John stop plying him with macaroons if it meant being up on his two feet again.

John was doing his best to keep Cam happy. He'd even stayed home from work for a couple of days to make sure that Cam followed Lam's orders, and Cam knew that this was a busy time of the year for him.

John was a teacher. That still messed with Cam's head a little, but John seemed happy enough with his new career. Far happier, in fact, that he'd been the last year he spent away from Atlantis, after the clusterfuck of a mission where John had almost lost use of his hand. He'd recovered, but not enough to be kept on as commander of a military base in a war zone. There had been a period there when Cam was pretty sure that the only thing that had kept John going was the knowledge that Atlantis was safe in Lorne's hands and that Ronon and Teyla weren't going to be sidelined on his watch.

Thinking about that made Cam feel vaguely guilty about the pity-party he had going on. He still had SG1, and he had John. John only had him, and right now Cam really wasn't the best of company. In fact, he was man enough to admit, he was wilfully being a dick at the moment. It was fucked up, but Cam was just so frustrated, and the only person he could take it out on was John. He was pretty sure that John knew what he was doing, and was being patient with him. He'd seen John bite back some cutting remarks of his own when Cam had been particularly difficult.

Right now he could hear John humming tunelessly in the kitchen, no doubt attempting to cook once again. Cam shuddered. Usually he did all the cooking, because John was as deadly in the kitchen as he was with a P-90, but since Cam was laid up, John had apparently decided that take-out wasn't nourishing enough for an invalid. Not that Cam was bitter. Much.

After a while John came into the bedroom, distractedly wiping his hands on his jeans. He sat down on the bed next to Cam, leaning tiredly against the headboard.

“Let's get pizza today,” Cam said.

“Why?”

“I'm in the mood for pizza.”

“Tough luck,” John said, “because I'm making spaghetti.”

“C'mon, John,” Cam wheedled.

John sighed. “What's the magic word?”

“Now,” Cam said, just to be a dick.

Finally, after what must have been days of pent up annoyance, John exploded. John being John, it was a quiet kind of explosion, but Cam could see the moment he decided he was fed up in his eyes and the sudden angry twist of his mouth.

“For fuck's sake, Cam! I know that it hurts, and it sucks that it happened to you, but it's a leg fracture; not the end of the world.”

“I thought this was about the pizza,” Cam said stubbornly.

“It's not about the pizza.”

John raked his hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was stressed.

“Look, Cam, I know you're worried, but you'll be fine. The doc said it was only a fracture – it'll heal. You're just not as young as you used to be.”

The worst part of hearing John call him old, Cam thought, was that it was true. If he had to be completely honest with himself, that was a large part of the reason why he'd acted like such a dick to John this week. His body wasn't bouncing back like the way it used to, and that was something that really scared him. He hadn't fought tooth and nail to get the use of his legs back, to get command of SG1, only to become a desk jockey. He wasn't ready for that. O'Neill had lasted a long time, and Cam had always assumed that he'd do too. And John knew all that, the bastard.

Knowing he was in the wrong was one thing. Apologizing for it was something else. Cam crossed his arms. “Speak for yourself, old man. I'm not the one going gray.”

John raised a dubious eyebrow at him. “You are aware that you're two years older than me, right?”

Sheepishly, Cam said, “I was hoping you'd forgotten that.”

John snorted. “It's okay,” he said, his voice getting a teasing tilt to it. “It doesn't matter that you're old and decrepit. I've always liked older men anyway.”

When Cam pushed him off the bed, John just laughed.

“Seriously though,” Cam finally said. “I'm sorry for being such a jerk.”

John looked up at him from where he was lying on the floor. “I know. It's okay.” He reached up and gave Cam's good leg a reassuring pat. “I've had worse. I'm friends with McKay, remember?”

“I do,” Cam said, drily. McKay was kind of hard to forget.

John dragged himself up from his sprawl on the floor and looked at Cam. It was a look ripe with intent, and Cam smirked.

“Planning something?” he asked.

John smirked back at him. “That depends. You done being a jerk yet?”

“Maybe. Depends what's in it for me.”

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two.”

With that John put a knee on the bed and smoothly straddled Cam, carefully not putting any weight on his legs. He slid a hand into Cam's boxers and pulled out his dick.

Cam got hard so quickly he thought he'd get whiplash.

“Promise to behave from now on?” John asked. He'd bent down, his pretty pink mouth hovering over Cam's dick, his tongue darting out to taste the head teasingly. He was looking straight at Cam from underneath the messy fall of his fringe. It was terribly unfair, Cam thought. How was he supposed to withstand _that_?

“I'll be good,” Cam moaned, “just, _please_ , suck my dick.”

“That's better,” John said, and went down for real, sucking him like a fucking hoover.

He was so good at that, Cam had always thought, always knowing exactly when to press his tongue hard against the thick vein on the underside, when to dip the point into the slit, and when to suck, bobbing up and down Cam's cock like a two dollar hooker, his cheeks hollowing obscenely around the visible outline of Cam's cock head.

It was like a feast for the senses, Cam thought: feeling John's mouth on his cock, John's hands on his thighs, thumbs brushing against his balls, John's _hair_ soft in his hands where Cam had grabbed it; seeing John practically devouring his cock, sucking him messily because he knew that was the way Cam wanted it, his mouth wet and shiny with spit and pre-come; hearing himself moan and curse and John making small happy sounds of enjoyment around Cam's dick; practically smelling John's arousal (and definitely smelling his own); almost tasting John's mouth on his already, knowing exactly what John's mouth would taste like once he'd swallowed all Cam had to give him.

All good things come to an end, his grandmother always told him, and Cam was pretty sure this was the end; he could feel his orgasm building and building, his balls almost aching with the need for release; and then, nothing.

Nothing except frustration, that is. His cock felt cold and abandoned, curving stiffly against his stomach.

“What the hell?” he moaned, dismayed and desperate. John was holding Cam's balls in a firm grip. Cam hadn't even noticed him slipping his hands into his shorts, too busy focusing on the feel of his impending orgasm to notice much of anything.

“What's the magic word?” John asked, and Cam could see that he was grinning, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Stop fucking around, John,” Cam pleaded, “it's really not funny.” He tried pushing John's head down on his cock, but John wasn't budging.

“The magic word,” John said, “or you're going to bed with blue balls tonight.”

“You bastard,” Cam hissed. “You planned this!”

John's smile was eerily starting to remind Cam of the Cheshire cat's. It was smug and knowing and much too amused. He knew he'd won, and Cam knew it too.

“Please, John,” he said, sounding as contrite as only a man suffering from blow-job interruptus can, “ _please_ let me come.”

“See, that wasn't so hard,” John said, the _asshole_ , and sucked Cam back into his mouth.

Cam wanted to hold out, wanted to teach John that he couldn't be played that easily, but he'd never been a match for John's blowjob technique. It only took a couple of minutes and he was coming, shooting into John's greedy mouth. John swallowed around him, and Cam watched as he almost reluctantly let his dick slip out from his mouth with one last parting lick.

“Come here, asshole,” Cam said and pulled on John's hair, and because his mom really had raised him right, he added, “ _please."_

John chuckled, but complied, moving away from his perch above Cam's legs and lying down beside him instead. Cam turned his head and kissed him.

His mouth tasted exactly like Cam had imagined; a little salty, a little bitter, and a lot like them.

John wrenched his mouth away. “What about me?” he said, and deliberately rubbed his hard cock against Cam's side.

“You didn't say the magic word,” Cam said, grinning broadly.

END


End file.
